


Rest

by GeneralHuxNeedsRest



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, and his parents taking care of him, enjoy the TRASH, hux's dad is a good person, just an excuse to write about hurt hux, past armitage hux/kylo ren - Freeform, so is his stepmother, they care about him, this has nothing to do with the canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-14
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2019-03-31 08:54:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13971609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeneralHuxNeedsRest/pseuds/GeneralHuxNeedsRest
Summary: He turns his head to get away from the annoying sound, but it doesn’t help.“Armitage.”A coarse hand is touching his cheek. He realizes that the voice with its heavy accent sounds familiar.“Armitage, you should really wake up now.”He groans.“lt’s getting scary, lad.”





	Rest

**Author's Note:**

> So, few things you should know, because I was too lazy writer to put them into the actual "story" (I am using the term story very loosely here, it is just a group of sentences where Hux sleeps and his father muses): one: I refuse to acknowledge what happened to the Hosnian system, so Hux is...not that evil? Two: after Ren became the Supreme Leader, the First Order and the Resistance decided to join sides, because that damned manchild would destroy the whole galaxy and they would need to find a new place to fight. 
> 
> Enjoy this bullshit, I am out.

Hux doesn’t remember the last time he felt so good. His whole body is comfortably numb and it feels as if he was covered in cotton - as if his whole body changed to cotton and he had no more worry in the world.  
He tries to open his eyes but they are heavy, too heavy and the world behind them is too bright.   
Then he feels a warm hand dancing over his eyelids and once again, he slips into blissful nothingness. 

The next time he wakes up, it hurts. His head, his whole body, his left side feels as of it was on fire. There is fire somewhere deep within him and he wants it to stop, wants it to stop burning, stinging, hurting.   
He thinks that he cries out at some point, but he can’t be sure. Everything is too fuzzy, too unclear, as if he was seeing the world through tainted glass.   
Someone sits down next to him and lays a comforting hand over his chest. There is a short, stinging pain in his elbow and something is laid over his nose and mouth.   
He falls asleep again. 

Voices, distant. Sometimes loud, sometimes he can barely hear them. Familiar.   
“It’s been a while since he last woke up.”   
“Oh, the doctors said that it will be a while before he gets fully concious.”   
“He is so pale!”  
“He’s always been pale, Maratelle.”  
“Well, he is paler now!”  
A soft sigh, rustling of clothes. Someone sits on the edge of the bed. A hand, touching his brow gently.   
He should open his eyes, but he still feels too tired.   
He wonders how is it possible for someone to sleep for so long and still be so tired.   
Someone is weeping. Someone takes his hand.   
He slips out again. 

“...mitage...”  
He turns his head to get away from the annoying sound, but it doesn’t help.   
“Armitage.”   
A coarse hand is touching his cheek. He realizes that the voice with its heavy accent sounds familiar.   
“Armitage, you should really wake up now.”   
He groans.  
“lt’s getting scary, lad.”  
At last, consciousness hits him and for the first time in days, he fights his way above the edge of sleep.   
His limbs are heavy and aching, but it is a dull ache, distant, probably suppressed by carefully chosen medication.   
He blinks his eyes open but it is a while before he can really see anything - but the blur of orange, white and brown gradually sharpens to the face of Brendol Hux.   
“Dad?” he says - or tries to say, anyway. His voice is too weak, too hoarse. He tries to swallow and panics when he finds his mouth and throat as coarse as sandpaper.   
Brendol Hux quickly notices his distress and pours a glass of water from a crystal jar sitting on a night-stand.   
“Carefully, now,” he says as he puts one arm under his son’s bony shoulders and puts the glass to his lips. He lets him drink, but only a few sips before taking it away and helping Hux lay down again. Hue doesn’t argue - too much on an empty stomach would just leave him dry-heaving.  
“What -” but before he can finish his question, Brendol raises his hand to silence him.   
“It is a long story. I must apologize for not alerting anyone on the Finalizer, but...you probably know why it didn’t happen.”  
“What about...what about Ren?” It hurts him when he says his name and it has nothing to do with his still sore throat.   
“General Organa wants to punish him herself. We decided to let her. He is her son.”   
“So...” Armitage swallows, still not satisfied with the state of his mouth and throat. “The Rebels are our allies now?”   
“We are...trying to find a mutual road now. Time will tell how it goes.” He goes quiet for a while, just looking at his son with a preoccupied expression on his face.   
“You gave us a terrible scare, boy, you know that. Your mother and I,” he smiles sadly. “She has spent a whole night here after I brought you here.”   
Armitage wants to say something. It is probably expected of him, but he can’t find the strength. He wants to take a deep breath, but something in his chest doesn’t agree with that and he whimpers at the sudden pain.   
“Hey, take is easy, son.” Brendol Hux looks concerned. “You should probably sleep again.” He puts his hand over his eyelids and Hux let’s sleep claim him again. 

“Are you sure that you are comfortable, Armie?” Maratelle has spent the last few minutes carefully rearranging all the pillows and blankets around Hux. “Aren’t you cold?”   
Hux has to suppress an annoyed sigh. He knows that Maratelle means well, but all her chattering and “making sure that he is fine” was just making him even more tired.   
“Yes, Ma. I am fine, really.”  
She doesn’t seem convinced.   
“You are so terribly skinny.”  
“That’s because I am not allowed solid food yet, Ma.”  
“And your hair has gotten so long!” She sits down next to him and brushes her fingers through his hair, just to prove her point.   
“Come on, Maratelle, let the boy breathe,” Brendol scolds her, smiling. He is standing by an open window, looking out. There are heavy clouds gathering on the south.   
It will be raining, soon.   
But then again, it is always raining on Arkanis. It eases Hux’ sleep.


End file.
